


Baresuit and Pregnant

by LifeInkognito



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluffy Ending, Irondad, Peter Parker is Precious, Post-Infinity War, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony is a dad, father/son relationship, spidersitter, spiderson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-04 04:46:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14585265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LifeInkognito/pseuds/LifeInkognito
Summary: “I guess... this whole bringing-new-life-into-the-world thing has me a little freaked. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly the Mike Brady type.”“Who’s Mike Brady?”“Shit kid, the Brady Bunch. Ugh, you know what, let’s skip the pop culture tutorial for now. My point is, I’m not sure I can do the whole paternal thing. Keeping things alive isn’t my forte.”“You’ve kept me alive,” Peter jumps in cheerfully. “I mean, you’ve saved my butt a few times now, right? The ferry, the octopus guy, that time I almost fell off the Brooklyn Bridge when—”“Yeesh, maybe next time you decide to give me a pep talk, leave out all the times you nearly died horribly?”





	1. Baresuit and Pregnant

As with many of Tony’s most life-changing decisions, he starts by throwing away the cue cards.

 

“Effective immediately,” he proclaims into the heap of microphones hooked up to the podium, “I’m retiring from the Avengers.”

 

The press explodes into a whirlwind of astonished gasps, outbursts, and flashing cameras. He glances past them all to Pepper, who’s leaning her back against the wall, slack-jawed, eyes wide and unblinking. This isn’t what they planned. This wasn’t supposed to be the purpose of this press conference. Their eyes connect and she mouths his name.

 

She’ll probably be upset with him later. Not for his decision to leave the Avengers—for years she’s been begging him to let go of the suits, to stop the grand heroics. But for not warning her first. For not sticking to the script, yet again. She’d spent days crafting those cue cards—hours holed up in her office fielding calls from various high-ranking government officials, running drafts past their team of lawyers, all to come up with a way to explain the exterrestrial vessel that landed in Manhattan, and the two alien lifeforms Iron Man was seen battling on the streets.

 

Because that’s all there is to explain.

 

No great war. No tragedies. No disappearances.

 

As far as everyone on Earth besides Tony knows, none of that ever happened. And they’re right. Tony despises those damn magic rocks with every fiber of his being, but he’ll give this to the Time Stone: it did exactly what it said on the tin.

 

Every reporter in the room has a hand raised. _“_ Yeah, you,” Tony says, gesturing to the brunette up front wearing a _Daily Bugle_ badge.

 

“Mr. Stark, you’ve stated many times that your life’s mission was to build a shield around the world to protect humanity from further extraterrestrial threats. Why now, after the worst alien attack this city has seen in years, are you choosing to hang up your suit?”

 

 _They don’t know_ , he reminds himself. They don’t know what he had to lose. What he had to survive.

 

He leans forward on the podium, mouth close to the mics. “Now, some of you might be quite shocked to realize this,” he confides, “and I’m truly sorry to tarnish your pristine image of me… but I am a selfish man.” There are a few chuckles amongst the crowd. “I want to protect what’s mine. And right now, my focus is on my family.”

 

The _Bugle_ journalist is quick to follow on his heels. “So you’re saying you’re choosing your relationship over the welfare of the entire world?”

 

In the back of the room, Pepper’s hand drops to hover over her stomach. Their eyes meet again, and she gives him an almost imperceptible nod.

 

 _She knows me so well_.

 

“You know what they say,” Tony mutters into the mic. “When you have a kid, _they_ become your entire world.”

 

Another explosion of camera flashes.

 

 _A little bit longer_ , Tony promises himself. _Just hold it together a little bit longer_.

 

“Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark!” The reporters are practically tripping over each other to get his attention.

 

“One more,” he obliges, and points at random to a man in a patterned tie.

 

“Mr. Stark, you are a founding member and major financial backer of the Avengers organization. Without your support, will the team be disbanding?”

 

Tony smirks ruefully. “The Avengers are a team, not a Janga tower. If removing one piece made the whole thing crumble, they wouldn’t be ‘Earth’s Mightiest Defenders.’” He pauses briefly. “Look, the team’s grown since we first got together six years ago. I’m not the strongest, or the smartest, or even the richest anymore. The Avengers will be fine. I trust them with my life. So should you.”

 

More hands shoot up. He gazes out at all the rapt, tense faces in the room. They’re not just reporters thirsty for a headline—they’re regular people too, and they’re scared, because they don’t know what’s going to happen next.

 

And honestly, neither does he anymore.

 

Tony shudders a long breath, then stands up straight. He removes his tinted glasses and folds them into the pocket of his blazer. “Peace and prosperity on Earth,” he announces. The room has become so hushed, his voice echoes against the walls. “That’s what I’ve dedicated the last decade of my life to. Keeping us all safe, so we can enjoy life to the fullest. And I’m not saying that job is done. There will always be more threats, more battles. That doesn’t change.” He looks one more time at Pepper, talking directly to her now. “But after years fighting on the frontlines, it’s time to pass the torch. I hope I’ve earned this moment to enjoy a little peace and prosperity in my own life.”

 

And with that—amongst the continued raised hands, shouted questions, blinding lights—Tony flashes two peace signs at the cameras, then lowers his head, and exits the room.

 

***

 

They’re both sitting on a rooftop in Queens, legs dangling off the ledge, staring across the East River towards the smoggy skyline of Manhattan.

 

Tony had F.R.I.D.A.Y. track the kid’s suit, then swooped in for a visit under the pathetic guise of “I just so happened to be in the neighborhood.” Not that the kid had been up to very much anyways. Apparently it had been a slow evening, because when Tony showed up he’d found the kid practicing backflips on a web tightrope slung between two billboards on either side of the Grand Central Parkway.

 

“I saw the press conference,” Peter says hesitantly. He’s kicking his feet back and forth, a painfully young habit.

 

“You and the rest of the world,” Tony says. “We’ve got a pool going at SI for the _Bugle_ ’s next headline. My vote’s on ‘Baresuit and Pregnant.’ Happy put his money on ‘Tony’s Going Homey.’ Pretty weak but hey, they’ve been grasping at straws lately. You want in?”

 

“No, no. I, uh, just wanted to say…” Peter glances toward him, then quickly away, back towards the city’s skyline, “congratulations. About the baby. That’s really cool.”

 

Tony’s mouth quirks up. “Thanks, kid.”

 

Maybe _before_ , Tony would have suppressed the urge to reach out towards him. But now he doesn’t hesitate to sling an arm across Peter’s shoulders. The kid seems a bit surprised, but not unhappy about it.

 

They sit in silence for a few seconds. Then Peter breaks in, “Mr. Stark, is everything okay?”

 

“Sure, kid.”

 

“Okay. I just, I mean…” Peter’s ears start going red, the way they always do when he’s about to launch into a nervous, garbled spiel. “You just seem sort of, uh… You’ve been coming by a lot more, and—I mean, I love seeing you, really. Like, it’s always fun hanging out. But… But uh, we didn’t really, do it a lot before. And you seem sort of… different?”

 

Of course the kid’s picked up on it. He’s always had an acute emotional intelligence—but that aside, Tony knows he’s been acting different with the kid. Just a few weeks ago, Tony was encouraging (read: demanding) him to stay low on the ground, intentionally keeping a professional distance between them. This Peter never showed up to the alien fight in Manhattan, never got anywhere near the ship. Never followed him to Titan like the ridiculously loyal, stupid teenager he is.

 

But Tony doesn’t have the heart to keep up the farce with the kid anymore. Not after losing him once.

 

But Tony doesn’t want to think about that, so he deflects. “Different, huh? Is this one of those ‘spidey sense’ things you were talking about? God, I can’t believe you made me call it that…”

 

“No, I mean... I don’t know. Never mind, I’m just being stupid I guess.”

 

“Hey.” Tony squeezes the kid briefly with the arm he still has wrapped over his shoulders. “It’s fine. I guess... this whole bringing-new-life-into-the-world thing has me a little freaked. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly the Mike Brady type.”

 

“Who’s Mike Brady?”

 

“Shit kid, the Brady Bunch. Ugh, you know what, let’s skip the pop culture tutorial for now. My point is, I’m not sure I can do the whole paternal thing. Keeping things alive isn’t my forte.”

 

“You’ve kept me alive,” Peter jumps in cheerfully. “I mean, you’ve saved my butt a few times now, right? The ferry, the octopus guy, that time I almost fell off the Brooklyn Bridge when—”

 

“Yeesh, maybe next time you decide to give me a pep talk, leave out all the times you nearly died horribly?”

 

“Right, right, sorry. Shutting up now.”

 

Tony barks a laugh, looking back out across the river at the orangy-pink sunset. This is what he fought for—what he was willing to die for—in that other horrific reality, before the Stones pulled him back. For more moments just like this one: these simple, silly, stupid, happy little slivers of life.

 

“Okay, confession time,” Tony says suddenly, removing his arm from Peter’s shoulders. “I wasn’t really just in the neighborhood. I actually came here on a matter of business.”

 

The kid perks up immediately. “Really? Like, mission stuff? I got a passport now, I can grab it—”

 

“Stand down. This one’s not going to require crossing international borders.”

 

Tony reaches into his blazer pocket and finds the piece of paper he’d folded up. He hands it to Peter and watches with barely-concealed amusement as the kid’s face drops from ecstatic to baffled in a matter of seconds.

 

“Red Cross Babysitting Classes & Certification at the Queens Library?” Peter reads. “What—”

 

“I’m gonna need someone to watch the kid on occasion and Pep insists you get certified before I leave you guys alone. I’m giving you a lot of lead time here, so you better make it to one of those classes. It’s every other Saturday at 2pm.”

 

“You’re making me your babysitter?” Peter says dubiously, brows furrowing.

 

“Hey, I guarantee it’ll pay a hell of a lot more than flipping burgers, or making YouTube vlogs, or whatever the hell you Gen Z’s do for spare change these days.”

 

“You…” Peter pauses, lifting his eyes from the paper. Tony expects him to whine, or make excuses, because Tony sure would have at his age, but instead he says, “You’d trust me?”

 

The kid sounds so honored, it’s as if Tony’s offering him a spot on the Avengers again, instead of an eventual part-time job washing snot off an infant’s face.

 

Of course Tony trusts him. He’s seen what Peter’s capable of. Looking at the kid now, all sheepish and stuttering and innocent, it’s easy to remember why Tony was always so insistent on keeping him far from the frontlines. But Tony knows, in some other version of reality, right now they are fighting side by side on a hostile alien planet, and the kid is being brave and strong and cool under pressure. He’s made of the right stuff—he always has been.

 

And also, Tony figures that when it comes to childcare, having a few extra arms and legs (eight of them) can only be a bonus.

 

“Yeah, kid. I trust you. But to be clear, I’m hiring Peter Parker, not your alter ego, capisce? I don’t want to see Spider-Man flinging himself around the city with an ErgoBaby strapped to his chest.”

 

“Of course, Mr. Stark! No sweat. I totally have this covered.”

 

Tony pats him on the back. “Good. And who knows, maybe down the line it might lead to something more permanent at SI. I mean, look at Pepper. She was a PA, then CEO, now my wife and future mother of my offspring. We at Stark Industries believe in dynamic lateral opportunities.”

 

They watch the sky flush bright orange and red above the dark shadows of the city skyscrapers. For a moment, Tony’s mind flashes back to Titan—to the burnt orange terrain, the dusty sky. Peter, in his arms, begging—

 

“Hey kid,” Tony says before he’s even aware he’s opened his mouth.

 

Peter turns his head. He’s cheerful and smiling and oblivious. Tony wants to keep it that way.

 

“Just, uh,” Tony falters. “I just wanted to be clear that, even though I’m leaving the Avengers, we can still… well, I’ll still be around. You know, for suit stuff and mentor stuff and...”

 

Peter is beaming.

 

“Girl stuff,” Tony adds, to cut through the tension. “Did May even give you the talk yet? Actually, you should probably hear it from a man anyhow. I don’t know what they tell you in health classes these days but there’s nothing wrong with safe, consensual—”

 

“Oh my god!” Peter abruptly slips his legs back from the ledge and jumps up onto his feet in one lightning fast, graceful motion. “We’re definitely not doing this right now.”

 

“Suit yourself.” Tony pulls his legs back from the ledge as well and tries to get up, but even without Spider-like reflexes, he’s getting old and his back is protesting. “Give me a hand here, would ya?”

 

Peter obliges, and Tony stretches his arms over his head, listening to his limbs crack like a house settling into place.

 

And then all of the sudden his torso has a kid around it.

 

His mind flashes to a different time and place—desperate hands clawing at his shoulders, his weight pulling him to the ground, a pale, dying face—

 

But that never happened. Peter is fine now. They both are. And Tony’s so absurdly relieved for a second that he throws his arms around the kid a little more fiercely than he should, and hugs him back.

 

A few moments pass, and then Tony steps away, feeling embarrassed, even though Peter hasn’t seemed to notice anything’s wrong. He needs an excuse to hide his face. He taps the sensor on his bracelet twice and the suit re-engages instantly, the helmet slamming closed over his face.

 

“Alright, the Missus beckons. Catch you on the flip side, Parker.” He activates the thrusters and launches back into the air, heading over the East River.

 

One day, maybe he’ll decide to tell Peter what happened. Maybe he even deserves to know. But no, no, not right now. Let him be a kid just a little bit longer.

 

They’ve finally got time.


	2. Kid, Meet Kid

“Just explain it to me in terms a humble billionaire genius can understand, Doc,” Tony says, lifting a mug to his lips that he’s only just noticed is in his hand. Coffee, black, so hot it almost burns. His favorite. (Impressive trick, not that Tony would do Strange the favor of admitting it.)

 

Strange taps a gloved finger against his chin. In his billowing robes and red cape, he looks right at home amongst the extravagant furnishings and bizarre antiques of the Sanctum Sanctorum. “I’m not sure how you expect me to condense the workings of a cognizant relic that offers near limitless power to its wielder into Sesame Street logic for you,” he says.

 

Tony sighs, slumping backwards in his armchair. “Okay, then just tell me… is this,” he gestures around at nothing in particular, “real?”

 

“You’ll have to be more specific in order for me to properly answer,” Strange says obscurely.

 

Tony moves to set down his mug on the ornate coffee table. It disappears before it can leave any coffee ring stains. Damn egotistical show off wizards.

 

“This reality that we’re in now,” he tells Strange. “ _Is it_ reality? I’ve seen two different versions. One where we win, and one where we lose. How am I supposed to just trust that this one is the real deal? What if it’s an illusion? Or… or I zapped myself into a different universe, and somewhere out there I abandoned the one I came from? Do you understand why I’m slightly concerned here?”

 

Strange’s brows knit together, and he says darkly, “The power of the Infinity Stones is enough to drive any mere mortal toward madness.” Tony forces himself to bite back a sharp retort at the ‘mere mortal’ jab, waiting for Strange to go on. “What I don’t understand is why you’re coming to me only now. If what you say is true, it’s been five months since you turned back time.”

 

Right. Five months. It’s been five months since he turned back time to the day when his life changed forever, when he descended into his worst nightmare—but this time it’s played out differently. Thanos and his cronies are gone for good. No more monsters have crawled out of the woodwork. His friends and loved ones are fine. Everything is just the way he wanted it to be.

So why does he still feel like the other shoe is going to drop?

 

In that other version of time, Strange told him that he saw billions of possible futures when he looked into the Time Stone, but only one outcome where they won. When Tony wielded the Stone himself, he focused all of his energy on what he wanted that one future to be. A world where they ended the war against Thanos before it began. Where he could return to civilian life with Pepper. Where he could meet his child. Where he could keep the people he cared about safe.

Now he’s living in that reality. It’s been five months of relative peace.

 

“Look,” he says to Strange, “if it was just me, then I’d be fine living out my days in some magical dreamworld or parallel universe or whatever Matrix BS this is. But it’s  _not_ just me I’m looking out for anymore. And I keep getting this feeling. This… this feeling that… something’s... I don’t know.”

 

Strange unfolds his legs and stands up gracefully, walking across the room to grab an ancient looking leather bound book from a shelf. He waves a palm over it and it flips itself open to a particular page.

 

“What you’re inquiring about is quantum superposition. The state of being and not being simultaneously. Many great thinkers have pondered whether possibilities must exist once they have been observed.”

 

Tony rolls his eyes. “I did take Philosophy 101 when I attended college at fifteen years old. I’ve heard of Schrodinger’s cat.”

 

Strange holds out the book so Tony can see. Amongst the paragraphs of tiny, ancient symbols is an elegant drawing of the Eye of Agamotto, embroidered in gold foil. As Tony observes it, he can swear the symbols begin to swirl around the illustration, and the delicate golden spindles of the amulet begin to twirl, unlocking something green and bright inside. But then he blinks, and it’s just a flat image on the page again.

 

Damn freaking wizards.

 

“The Time Stone does not deal in illusion. It can reveal to its wielder an infinite amount of possible outcomes. But only that: possibilities. With every decision we make, we lock into place the course of our destinies.” Strange slams the book closed and places it back on the shelf. “You used the Stone to lock into place a set of decisions that rendered this reality possible. This _is_ real, Stark.”

 

Tony releases a breath, sinking deeper into the armchair. It’s a relief to hear, but somehow not enough to totally dispel the tension he’s been experiencing all these weeks.

 

Strange seems to take notice. “We do get cable here. We saw the press conference. You retired from the Avengers.”

 

Tony tries not to visibly bristle at his probing tone. “Yep.”

 

“Why? I mean, why _really_.”

 

Tony tilts his head backwards and stares at the hand-painted mosaic tiles on the ceiling. He can feel the intensity of Strange’s gaze on him, but he doesn’t lower his head to meet it.

 

“You saved the world, Stark. You’re allowed to enjoy it.”

 

“Yeah. Right. Okay.” Tony scrubs a hand over his face, all of those nights of shitty sleep starting to catch up with him. “Well, uh, thanks a lot Doc. You know, once you get past all the abracadabra stuff, you’re actually kind of easy to talk to. Whenever I try to talk to Bruce about personal stuff like—”

 

The room shifts, and then Tony is standing on the curb outside 177A Bleecker Street.

 

***

 

Okay, so maybe it’s just a lifetime of bad breaks and shitty choices and living through a dystopian hellscape that’s causing all this latent paranoia to set in. Just because things literally never go his way, ever, doesn’t mean that it won’t all turn out okay this time around.

 

Pepper’s six months along now, and thus far the pregnancy has gone off without a hitch, which is pretty remarkable, because Tony’s thoroughly researched all the ways it can go wrong, and there are plenty. In fact it’s almost driven him off the deep end, scrolling through websites with endless lists of warning signs: bloated ankles, spotting, high blood pressure, loss of appetite...

 

But thus far Pepper hasn’t experienced any hiccups. She’s glowing and radiant and fierce as ever, speeding around the compound or SI headquarters in her maternity business suits to take conference calls and meetings. The literal weight of a tiny human life inside her hasn’t slowed her down one bit.

 

He shouldn’t have anything to worry about. But every night when he lies down beside her, all he can see behind his eyelids are the infinite ways something could go wrong. There were fourteen-million-six-hundred-and-four ways for him to fail. Now just one mistake, one missed sign, is all it could take for his whole world to collapse on him again. He could lose everything, just like that.

 

He attempts to prepare for as many of those possibilities as he can. He orders additional security. He hires a maternity doctor to live full time in the complex and arranges for daily check-ins. He has their chef arrange a special menu according to the leading experts’ dietary recommendations. He attempts to get her to wear a bracelet that will constantly monitor her vitals and report to F.R.I.D.A.Y.

 

“You’re smothering me,” she tells him one evening. “You told me you were done with all the fear and neurosis when you left the Avengers. This is exactly why I was worried about us having kids, Tony. You promised you wouldn’t get like this.”

 

Yeah, okay, he might have promised her something like that once upon a time. So he backs off, and tries to funnel his anxieties into tinkering in the lab instead. He works on making useful things. He programs Dum-E to change diapers. He makes a reloadable parachute for Parker’s spider-suit. He creates a new update for the StarkPhone that revolutionizes battery life performance. It keeps him distracted, mostly.

 

But when Pepper insists on attending the next Stark Expo, he has to draw the line.

 

“I know I’m not the leading expert on great ideas, but this seems like a very _not_ great idea,” he tell her. “It’ll be dark and crowded and loud. And aren’t you the one who called this event, and I quote, an exorbitant budget draining stroke-fest?”

 

She waves a dismissive hand. “You think I’m just going to lie on my back for the next three months? I’m still perfectly capable of doing my job.”  

 

“You’re the most capable person I know, sweetheart,” Tony says, laying it on real thick, “I just don’t get why you need to push yourself when—"

 

“I’m the CEO. I’m going,Tony,” she says, deadpan.

 

He knows he’s got the lower ground here. So he changes tactics. “Okay, okay, you’re right. I’ll order extra security—”

 

She gives him a withering look. “You have more security on me than the Pope.”

 

“I’m eighty-eight percent sure that’s an exaggeration.”

 

“Tony, _please_ , enough. You’re driving me insane.”

 

He hates how much those words cut into him. She notices, and her anger instantly deflates. “Tony.” She takes a step toward him, and lifts a hand to touch his cheek. He presses into the warmth of her palm and closes his eyes. “Nothing’s going to happen,” she promises.

 

“I’m sorry,” he mutters into her hand.

 

“I know this is how you show you care.” She leans against him, belly touching his chest. He wraps his arms around her waist and holds her there. “I know you love us.”

 

“I do.”

 

“It’s going to be okay.”

 

He presses his face into her hair, fingers sliding underneath the hem of her shirt to feel the soft skin of her belly. He really tries to believe her.

 

***

 

“Hey, kid,” Tony says, not looking up from the circuit board he’s soldering in the spider suit. The whole thing is singed from Spider-Man’s recent run-in with a utility pole. Honestly, this kid has found so many creative ways to screw up the multi-million dollar costume, Tony would consider bundling him in bubble wrap and calling it a day, if the suit weren’t already a glorified safety bubble.

 

Peter peers up from the math homework he’s been scratching at. “Yeah, Mr. Stark?”

 

“You interested in attending the Stark Expo this year? Seems up your alley,” he says, purposely keeping his tone offhanded. “And by your alley I mean ridiculously dorky.”

 

“Oh yeah!” Peter perks up. “I already got my tickets and everything!”

 

Tony drops his tweezer, and stares at Peter aghast. “You bought them? Kid. Come _on_.”

 

“It’s no big deal,” Peter says quickly, clearly trying to skirt right past the awkwardness. “Ned and me do it every year. It’s basically a tradition. We wait at the ticket booth and bring snacks and watch movies on his phone.”

 

Tony rolls his eyes. “Well at least let me give you and Ted an upgrade. I’ve got a small favor to ask while you're there. I need to borrow your... specific skill set.”

 

Peter scoots forward eagerly on his rolling stool. “Do you need extra security? Are you worried there’s gonna be another attack like the Hammer drones?”

 

“It’s a security job of sorts.” He kicks out a leg to stop the kid’s stool before he wheels himself into something expensive.  “Pep’s overseeing the convention, and I was thinking you could keep an extra set of eyes on her.” He narrows his eyes at Peter meaningfully. “Discreetly.”

 

“What, do you mean, like, spying...?”

 

“No, no, not spying. Just surveillance. Come on kid, don’t make it weird.”

 

Peter’s expression is dubious at best. “Is Happy not going?”

 

“He is.” Tony pushes his stool away from the work table and glances up at the ceiling. “Trust me, you do the hero thing as long as I have and you learn to err on the side of an overabundance of caution.”

 

Inexplicably, Tony starts feeling slightly ridiculous for having to explain himself, and maybe a touch guilty too—he’s all too aware of the kid’s ridiculous loyalty and misplaced hero worship. Normally it’s more a hindrance than an asset, and Tony doesn’t want to take advantage of it.

 

“You don’t have to do anything,” Tony assures him.  “Just, you know, maybe help keep an eye on her from a distance? Pep’s carrying precious cargo. I’ll breathe easier knowing someone else I trust has her back.”

 

Peter perks up at the word ‘trust,’ always so eager for Tony’s approval. He still doesn’t realize he’s already more than earned it. “Okay,” Peter says. “No problem, Mr. Stark.”

 

“Thanks, Pete,” Tony says, genuinely grateful. He reaches over to drop a hand on Peter’s shoulder and pat him twice.

 

Peter grins at him. It doesn’t take very much to make the kid happy. His joy is infectious, and not for the first time lately, Tony is reminded of how glad he is to have him around.

 

***

 

The first half of the Stark Expo passes without much fanfare.

 

Well, actually, there is _very_ much fanfare—fireworks, confetti, celebrity speeches, grand demonstrations of cutting-edge tech, the whole nine yards. But the main things Tony is concerned about—namely, his very pregnant CEO, and his very ungainly protégée—are thus far perfectly fine. After weeks imagining every worst-case scenario, the complete lack of drama is almost unbelievable, although very welcome.

 

And yet, something continues to prickle at the nape of Tony’s neck. Almost like the kid described when he tried to explain his “spidey sense” to him. That persistent feeling, like premonition, that something is lurking around the corner.

 

 _Nothing is going to happen_ , Tony assures himself, and lists off the precautions he’s taken again: all the background checks, metal detectors, guards, cameras. This might just be the safest place in all of New York City tonight. It’s just his paranoia, rearing its ugly head as usual. He’s allowed to enjoy this.

 

Pepper gives an inspiring opening speech, then introduces Tony, who rolls onto the stage in a flashy model of the self-driving, AI-piloted car Stark Industries is developing. The crowd goes wild. Balloons drop from the ceiling. Tony says a few words into the mic about the importance of investing in R&D, his father’s vision for the future of SI, yada yada. Then he takes to the floor to sign autographs and take pictures, all the while peering around the room to keep track of Pepper, who’s shaking hands and laughing with groups of investors.

 

One too many selfies later, and he loses sight of her. He wanders the floor, and eventually spots the kid and his friend fogging up the glass of the Mark III’s display case, each holding tote bags filled with merch and munching on arc-reactor themed cookies.

 

“What do we have here?” Tony drawls, sidling up behind them. “Teenage spies sent to steal all my company secrets? Whatever they’re paying you I’ll double it.”

 

Ted’s jaw all but drops down to his feet. “You’re To—Ton—”

 

“Missing some letters there, kid.” He turns to Peter. “You happen to catch wind of my better half ‘round these parts? I lost her somewhere in the horde of STEM bros back there.”

 

Peter points towards the clean energy exhibition. “Oh yeah, she went that way, Mr. Stark.”

 

Sure enough, he looks in that direction and catches sight of Pepper’s strawberry-blonde ponytail. “Thanks, kid. I owe you one. Or five. Let’s not keep count.”

 

And speaking of favors owed, an opportunity to pay it forward chooses that moment to walk past them. Tony waves the bespectacled man over, simultaneously tugging at Peter’s shoulder to wheel him in front of the man. “Hey Pete, meet Dr. Seymour Roth, president of MIT. Dr. Roth, my star intern, Peter Parker.”

 

“I wasn’t aware you took on interns.” Dr. Roth blinks owlishly at the kid. “I’m sure we can expect amazing things from you, Mr. Parker.”

 

“Oh, he’ll certainly amaze,” Tony echoes with only a tiny hint of irony. He pats the kid on the back, half-hoping it will jolt the deer-in-headlights expression off his face. “Hey, since we’re all science lovers here, congregated in this monumental space to talk about science, why don’t you tell Dr. Roth about that science project you’re working on for school?”

 

Peter is silent for a beat too long, then seems to regain his wits. “Oh, uh, right! So, um, Ned and I have been studying Dr. Banner’s work on gamma radiation in class, and we thought that since it picks up cosmic background radiation, we could try—”

 

The more the kid talks, the more natural he becomes, the awkwardness giving way to endearing enthusiasm. When he’s convinced that the kid can hold his own, Tony slips away toward the clean energy exhibit in search of Pepper. He finds her chattering with a representative of NOAA about meteorological patterns or something equally yawn-inducing.

 

He slips an arm around her waist. “Hey, honey. Don’t let me interrupt.”

 

But clearly he has. The NOAA representative is star-struck enough that whatever he was conversing about with Pepper is forgotten. After a handshake and selfie, Tony is finally able to pull her to the side.

 

“Hey, how are you holding up?” he asks.

 

“That was NOAA’s Secretary of Operations. We need his support if we want to set up more industrial arc reactors under the rivers—”

 

“I think he liked us fine, Pep.” He brushes an errant lock of hair behind her ear. “You doing alright?”

 

“I’m fine,” she says. “Aren’t you supposed to be over by the B.A.R.F. demonstration about now?”

 

“What? Yeah, yeah, consider me there. Do you want something to drink? Or a seat? You get tired, just say the word, honey, I’ll summon the armor and get you out of here.”

 

She smiles, half-amused, half-annoyed. “I’m fine,” she says again. “The B.A.R.F. demonstration, Tony. Get over there.”

 

“Yes, boss.” He scuttles off in the direct of the main stage, but not before turning around and calling across the crowded room, “Your wish is my command!”

 

Half the day later, the exhibition hall finally starts to wind down. The attendees begin to clear out, and the booths start to pack away their displays.

 

He shoots a text to Happy: _How’s the Mrs? Ready to bounce?_

 

He types back: _All good. We’re heading backstage to pack up._

 

He lets out a breath. The day was an actual success, with none of those hiccups he’s practically come to expect: no drone attacks from rival companies, no aliens dropping from the sky, not even an electrical glitch during the panels.

 

Someone taps on his arm. “Hey, uh, Mr. Stark?”

 

“Hey, Beaver.” Tony bumps a celebratory fist against Peter’s shoulder. “Packing your bags for MIT yet?”

 

“What?” Peter blinks at him, then shakes his head. “Oh, no. I was just, er…”

 

“What’s up, kid? Need a ride home?”

 

“No, I just, uh…” Peter shifts his feet uneasily. “It’s probably nothing. I just, you know how sometimes I get these kinda… weird feelings?”

 

Tony narrows his eyes and leans in, lowering his voice. “Are we doing the puberty talk right now or is this a spidey thing?”

 

“Spidey thing,” Peter whispers. “Something feels... off.”

 

Tony’s blood runs cold. “When did this start?”

 

“Like, a few minutes ago?”

  
Tony glances around. The exhibition hall has become hushed after all the activity during the day, a few custodians starting to sweep up the trash on the ground. If someone were planning an attack, wouldn’t they do it when the Expo was at its height? It doesn’t make sense.

 

But he can’t take the risk. He knows by now not to doubt the kid’s abilities. “Come on,” he says, waving the kid to follow him backstage. They need to grab Pepper and Happy and get the hell out of here.

 

They weaves through the narrow, fluorescent-lit halls towards the dressing room where Pepper stashed her bags.

 

He bursts inside, and Happy is standing there, texting on his phone. Alone. No Pepper. Tony stops breathing.

 

Happy looks up from his phone, startled. “What?” he says.

 

“Where is she?”

 

He points towards the door in the corner of the room. “Bathroom.”

 

“Pepper? Honey?” Tony sprints toward the door and jiggles the handle. It’s locked. “Pep, you in there? Say something, sweetheart.”

 

He presses his ear close to the door and hears movement inside. And then faintly, so soft he almost misses it, he hears her voice. “Tony.”

 

Something isn’t right.

 

“Kid, I need a hand,” Tony says, glancing back at Peter, who’s been hovering nervously just outside the doorway. “Pep, we’re going to open the door, okay?”

 

The kid grasps the handle and pulls it clean off, like it was attached with velcro instead of screws and bolts. He steps back as Tony wrenches the door open.

 

At first he only feels relief. Pepper is sitting on top of the closed toilet, hands holding her stomach. She looks a bit pale but she’s there and whole.

 

Then he sees the blood.

 

“Tony,” she croaks. “Something’s wrong.”

 

***

 

He knew. He’s always known, somewhere deep inside, that he was never meant to have this. A wife. A child. A family. He’s not allowed to have those things. They always get taken away.

 

He doesn’t remember the trip to the hospital. One minute all he sees is blood, blood, blood, and the next he’s being ushering into a waiting room. White walls, ancient TV hanging from the ceiling playing a melodrama on mute, sign hanging on the wall reminding patrons to please be courteous and not use their phones in the waiting area.

 

“You want some water?” Happy asks.

 

He shakes his head. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore.

 

He’s going to lose then both. His whole world over. Just like that. In a snap.

 

“Hey,” Happy mutters, grabbing Tony’s forearm. “Sit down, you’re going to keel over—”

 

He’s going to lose them. He’s going to lose them.

 

“Tony!”

 

Inexplicably, May Parker bursts into the room. She’s wearing scrubs and a badge. They must be at the hospital in Queens where she works.

 

“Happy, sit him down,” May says, and takes Tony’s other arm. Together they force him into one of the cheap plastic chairs lining the walls. “Deep breaths. You need to get yourself together so you can get back in there with Pepper.”

 

“Pe—“ he tries to say, but runs out of air to finish the sound.

 

“You’re having a panic attack. Tony, they’re going to be okay. She’s just down the hall. She needs you to be strong.”

 

“The blood—“

 

“You got her here before she lost too much. She’s going to be okay, Tony. She’s in surgery now.”

 

He sucks in a sharp breath. May rubs the space on his back between his shoulders.

 

“There you go,” she says. “Deep breaths.”

 

He shakes his head. “Gonna lose them.”

 

May leans in close. “You can’t think like that.”

 

“I can’t—I can’t lose—I can’t do this again. I’m not—“

 

“Tony.” May wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls him into a half-hug. “I get it. When you lose someone you love, you realize how easy it is. How fragile our lives are. And you’ve been through more than anyone should.”

 

She can’t possibly know how right she is. Her grasp is strong and solid. She’s holding onto him like she would a child. He’s seen her wrap her arm around Peter this way.

 

“Ever since Ben died... I feel like all I do is worry about Peter. I mean, even before I found out about everything. He’s my whole world. If anything happened to him, I don’t think I could survive it.”

 

Tony finds enough strength to lift his head and meet her eyes. “How do you… live with it. Let him… keep doing what he’s doing.”

 

“I honestly couldn’t tell you,” she says. “It goes against every instinct I have, letting him go out every night, not knowing if he could be hurt or worse. But… I guess at the end of the day, that’s still just part of being a parent. You can’t protect them forever. They have to go out and fight their own battles and make their own mistakes. My kid just has actual literal battles.... But it’s been easier, knowing Pete has you in his corner.”

 

Tony rubs his hands over his eyes, his breaths coming a bit easier now. “Thanks.”

 

May lets go of his shoulder, and pats him affectionately on the arm. “They’re both going to be okay, Tony.”

 

“Boss,” Happy calls out. He’s standing by the entryway with a nurse. “They’re saying you can go in now.”

 

May smiles. “That’s your cue, dad.”

 

***

 

They’re both standing in the NICU, shoulder to shoulder, staring into the isolette.

 

“Kid, meet kid,” Tony says proudly.

 

Peter leans down to look at the tiny bundle shifting around in the blankets.

 

“Oh my god,” he says. “You know how people are always like ‘he looks just like you!’ but all baby’s kind of look the same? He actually looks like you!”

 

Tony’s not so sure about that. Morgan is too small, only eight inches long, and so, so pale. He’s almost translucent, and covered in fine hair. His eyes are glued shut. But he has a fringe of eyelashes, and his tiny fingers have nails, and he keeps grasping around, looking for something to hold.

 

“You can use those glove things, see, they go inside the crib,” Tony instructs. “If you wanna touch him.”

 

Peter sticks his hand into the glove and moves it to experimentally stroke his index finger across a tiny foot.

 

“His so little,” Peter says. “I don’t wanna hurt him.”

 

“You won’t.”

 

Peter lifts his gloved hand and the baby reaches out and grabs his finger, holding on tight.

 

“Wow,” Peter says. “He’s way stronger than he looks.”

 

“Kid.” Tony nudges his shoulder against Peter’s, both of them still staring down at Morgan as he wrinkles his nose. “We can’t thank you enough. If you hadn’t been there…”

 

“I was just, you know,” Peter smirks, “helping the little guy.”

 

Tony chuckles. “Well you did good, Spider Punk.”

 

“Hey, look, I think he can hear us!” Peter leans in against the glass. “He wiggled around when you laughed.”

 

Morgan’s little fist is still clenched tightly around Peter’s finger. The adorable scene twists at Tony’s insides.

 

But then, for one fleeting, awful second, another scene flashes behind his eyes: Peter’s fingers clawing at him, as they dissolve into nothing.

 

He forces that memory from his mind. It never happened. The kid is here, he’s holding hands with Morgan, and they’re okay. It’s like Strange said: he’s allowed to enjoy this.

 

But then why does he still remember?

 

He swallows hard and clears his throat. “Hey, uh, kid.”

 

Peter glances up, eyebrows raised at Tony’s gruff tone.

 

One day the kid might need to know. If the world changed once, it might change again. And even if Tony’s tapping out of the hero business, the kid is just coming into his own. He has to understand what’s out there.

 

But then what? Live every day is horror and fear and dread, like Tony? He can’t do that to him.

 

He looks back at Morgan. Only a few days old. He has no idea about good or evil, villains or heroes. He’s nothing but innocent joy and infinite potential. If there’s anything in this world worth protecting, isn’t it that?

 

“Is everything okay, Mr. Stark?” Peter prompts.

 

He falters. A flippant “nothing, nevermind” is on the tip of his tongue, but he pauses.  

 

If all this shit has taught him one thing, it’s that sometimes time runs out when you least expect it. Maybe this isn’t the moment he tells Peter everything, but it could be the start.

 

“Kid, I think it’s about time I introduced you to someone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I wrote an angsty chapter? Next one will be the last... SPIDER-SITTER TIME.

**Author's Note:**

> I am praying, PRAYING that the hint about Pepper being pregnant means Tony has an excuse to retire after Avengers 4, rather than, ya know, meeting his doom. I really want to see spider-sitter. Heck, maybe I’ll write it as a part 2. This is how I cope.


End file.
